


stay with me, go places

by alpacas



Category: How I Met Your Mother
Genre: F/M, Finale Fixit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-08-13 14:45:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7980400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpacas/pseuds/alpacas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No, we really did get divorced. It just kind of turns out that we sucked at it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. stay with me, go places

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in what I'm going to call "Alternative Ending Canon." — meaning that it follows the finale up until Ted and Tracy's wedding, after which it fades out over a monologue/things veer off to a much less bleak ending. So, B/R still divorce, but they very much get back together.
> 
> There's one chapter for every year between 2016 and 2020, plus an epilogue. It's really not that dramatic of a story.

 

**_September, 2020._ **

 

It's overcast the day Ted and Tracy get married. No rain, which Lily opines is good, anyway, and Ted grandly announces would actually be  _appropriate_. "Your mom and I met on a rainy day," he tells his daughter as he holds her on his lap. After the quick ceremony and quicker MacLaren's reception, the party had adjourned to Lily and Marshall's place on Long Island, as it was marginally the closest. "It was pouring. I was sitting under the awning at the Farhampton train station…"

"When  _suddenly_!" Lily intones dramatically, coming back from the snack buffet with chips and hummus, "I saw a yellow umbrella out of the corner of my eye!" She sits on the sofa.

"Why,  _I_ used to have an umbrella like that," Marshall says next, picking up the narrative.

"And  _golly_ ," Barney says from his chair, "that girl is sure  _cute_ , too."

"And I wondered to myself, should I say  _hi_?" Tracy finishes sweetly, leaning over to kiss her new husband on the lips.

"Funny, guys," Ted says with badly-hidden amusement. "That's all true, by the way," he whispers to Penny, bouncing her on his knee.

"Daddy, can I go?" she asks, wriggling. Everyone laughs and pretends they didn't when Ted looks around balefully.

"Sure you can, sweetie," Lily says. "Why don't you go into the den with the other kids?"

Ted watches her go. "She's going to appreciate that story when she's older."

"Sure she will, honey," Tracy says, wiping tortilla chip crumbs off her wedding dress. She sighs happily, closing her eyes and sinking back into the sofa. "Today's a good day," she announces. Lily and Marshall  _aww_ , and Ted reaches for and takes her hand.

"It only took you guys seven and a half years," Robin says, coming back from the kitchen with an arm full of beer bottles, which she begins to pass around the room, starting with the bride and groom.

"Some things are worth waiting for," Tracy says in an overly serious voice, to more laughter but another kiss from her husband. She sits up and scoots over to snuggle up against Ted. "Seriously, honey. I know you wanted the castle, but a quickie wedding in a bargain bin wedding dress and a Long Island reception is  _way_ more romantic."

"Aww," Lily says, sniffling a little as she watches her two friends snuggle. "I'll drink to that."

"It's like how when Lily and I got married," Marshall says fondly. "The outdoor ceremony was much better than the real one."

"More authentic. More emotional," Lily agrees.

"I know, but a castle would have been  _so_ romantic," Ted says with a sigh, his arm wrapped around his bride.

"Not to mention,  _tons_ of rooms to christen the marriage in," Barney says with a sigh of his own that causes Marshall and Ted to laugh. He'd been pretty quiet most of the day, as had Robin. He takes the bottle of beer she offers him.

Lily sits up. "What was  _that_?"

Robin hands her the second to last beer, keeping the last for herself. "What was what?" she asks, sitting in an empty chair.

"That  _look_. The two of you just shared a look."

Barney and Robin glance at one another. "No we didn't," she says.

"What look?" he says.

"What's this?" Ted asks, tearing his gaze away from Tracy. "A new development?" he asks teasingly.

"There was a look," Lily insists.

"I saw it too," Marshall says. He recounts it like he's on the stand: "Robin handed Barney a beer and he smiled at her, and she smiled back. She held onto the beer for an extra second, to prolong their contact. It was a  _look_."

"There was definitely not a look." Robin says, but her face is a little red, and Barney is suddenly very focused on his cell phone.

"Oh, come on," Ted laughs. "How many years has it been?"

"We split up four years ago," Robin says.

"Come to think of it," Tracy says from her position snuggled up against her husband, "the two of you  _were_ the last to leave the church earlier."

"O _ooh_ ," Lily says. Her gaze darts from Robin to Barney and back, before focusing on Barney. "You're being awfully quiet over there, Stinson."

He stubbornly pretends to keep texting someone until the gazes of everyone in the room become too much. "Fine," he says with a long suffering sigh. "I asked Robin if she wants to get a coffee."

He looks across the room at his ex-wife. She smiles back, a small, warm thing.  _Everyone_ sees the look this time.

"A coffee?" Ted echoes.

"Coffee, or  _coffee_?" Tracy teases.

"A coffee," Robin says, smiling down at her beer — a secret smile that Barney echoes.

"I  _knew_ there was still something between you two!" Lily crows.

"Is this like… a new development?" Marshall asks carefully.

"Kind of," says Barney.

"Not really," Robin says at the same time.

They share another look.

"It's a long story," Robin says.

"That's my line," Barney complains. "It's a  _big, long_ … story." He smirks.

"And…?" Lily is almost vibrating.

"I don't want to take the attention away from the happy couple," Robin says quickly, raising her bottle towards the sofa.

"Nope," says Tracy warmly. "Spill. For the bride."

"Seriously," Ted says ruefully, but smiling. "You think I'm not used to you two stepping all over my love story? You two are getting back together? That's great news. Almost as good as the other thing that happened today." He gestures between himself and Tracy. "Almost."

"Aww," Lily coos as the newlyweds snuggle and kiss again. Her voice suddenly turns serious. "But seriously, tell us  _everything_. When did this happen? When Robin was in town over the holidays? Ooh, Ted's birthday?"

"No, and no," Barney says.

"What about Ellie?" Marshall asks Barney.

Both Barney and Robin's faces cloud over a bit, but Robin is the one to answer, by avoiding the question. "Like I said, it's a long story." Barney looks at her questioningly, and she smiles back. "It actually started… well, the day we told you guys about our divorce."

Ted clears his throat. "This isn't going to be one of those times you decided to lie to us for your own weird pleasure, is it?" he asks.

"No, we really did get divorced," Robin says.

Barney laughs. "It just kind of turns out that we sucked at it."

She chuckles. "So it all started back in 2016…"


	2. 2016

 

 

> Yes, a heart will always go one step too far  
>  Come the morning and the four corners I see  
>  What the moral of the back story could be  
>  Come with me, go places.

 

 

 

_So, okay, like Robin said. It all started the day we told you guys we had divorced._

_I remember that day! It was when I invited everyone over to look at the house — Tracy and I had just moved in, and it was finally…_

—  _Shh, Ted. Daddy's talking. So there we were…_

 

 

* * *

 

 

**2016.**

 

No one says anything about it until the end of the evening, when jackets are being pulled on and goodbyes are being exchanged. It's a minute of mild chaos, everyone moving around and talking to everyone else. Lily catches Robin by the elbow and hugs her.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Lily asks in a whisper, standing on her toes to reach Robin's ear.

Robin hugs back, squeezes. "Yeah, I'm fine," she says. Lily pulls away, keeping her hands on Robin's arms, searching for a crack, sign of weakness, or lie. Robin smiles back, polite, bemused. "Seriously, Lily."

"How can you be fine?" Lily asks, her grip tightening.

Robin inhales, seems to consider the question. She looks over Lily's shoulder, at the door, Barney sharing some joke with Ted. She shrugs and looks back at Lily. "I don't know?" she says, her voice rising a little in the question. "But it's fine."

Tracy makes her way over to the women, both hands holding empty glasses. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, seriously," Robin says, smiling with fond exasperation at her friend's worry. "Look — me and Barney were never the marrying type. I think we did a great job under the circumstances. I don't have any regrets. About  _any_ of it." She shrugs.

"How can you say that?" Lily asks, her eyes wide and searching.

Tracy frowns. "Yeah! Ted and I have been together almost as long as you two, and if he wanted to break up, I'd be a wreck."

"It's —" Robin starts to say, more exasperation starting to creep into her tone.

"Hey, Robin," Barney calls over from the door. "The car's here, we gotta go." He nods outside.

"We're still friends," Robin says, pulling herself out of Lily's grip. "Really, guys. Nothing is going to change."

She smiles at them reassuringly, her eyebrows raised,  _don't be ridiculous_ , ever the voice of detached reason, but Lily and Tracy don't look convinced.

Ted catches her at the door and gives her a farewell hug. "Just call if you need us. Any of us," he says softly.

Robin pats his back. "Why is everyone treating me like I'm dying?" she asks, pulling away. She smiles at his confusion. "Cool your jets, Schmosby. Really. Me and Barney are  _fine."_ Ted looks confused and devastated. She pats his cheek. "I'll call you next time I'm in the city."

She gives Marshall a quick  _bye_ and hurries down the path to the waiting taxi. Barney is already sitting inside; she opens the door and he slides to the far end of the seat to make room for her. "Geez, that took forever," he complains. "the train station," he adds for the driver's benefit.

"Yeah, sorry," she says.

"No one ran  _me_ through the sympathy gauntlet," Barney continues. Robin laughs at his petulant tone.

"What can I say? Barney Stinson goes through a break up and everyone assumes it's his own fault," she teases. He laughs under his breath. They sit on opposite ends of the bench, not touching, and fall into a silence for a few minutes, Barney on his phone and Robin looking out the window, at the quite streets and houses. "Hey," Robin says.

"Huh?" His face is lit by the screen of his phone.

"We… we're cool, right?" she asks searchingly. "All that BS we told them wasn't just BS?"

"Of course we're cool," he says, in his real voice, full of desperate sincerity. "I actually think that went pretty well."

"Right? I was expecting way more interrogation."

"Dumb questions."

"An intervention."

"At  _least_ a speech from Ted about love and whatever."

"And another one from Lily telling us we don't know what we want."

They both chuckle. It isn't as easy, or as funny, as it used to be, Robin can't help but notice. "I really do still want to be friends," she says.

"Hey," he says, sincere again, smiling at her across the bench. "Me too." He glances down at his phone, slides it back into his pocket. "We made the right decision," he says.

"Yeah," she agrees, closing her eyes, opening them. It kind of sucks, she doesn't say. It's the right decision, but it kind of sucks. But between quitting now or sticking it out and growing to hate one another — she doesn't want to take that risk. Neither of them do. She reaches across the backseat to pat his leg. "I'm glad we did."

 

 

 

They take the train back to the city, to Barney's place. By then it's pretty late. Barney whines a little but helps her get her stuff together. Robin fills one suitcase and packs most of the rest of her things in boxes. "Would you mind calling someone to take it to our storage place tomorrow?" she asks, straightening herself up after taping and labelling the last box of clothes. "I can pay."

"No problem," Barney says, from where he's … mostly just been watching her from the sofa.

"Thanks. And thanks for the help packing, champ," she says. He raises his glass in a toast to her as she stretches. She checks her watch: it's almost three. "I'll be in Thailand for the rest of the month, but I should be back by June 4th. I can pick up my stuff then, if you're okay holding onto it."

"Seriously," he says. "No problem. I barely use that storage container anyway." He shrugs. "You can keep the whole thing as you want."

"Maybe," Robin says. It sounds easy, and therefore tempting. "Agh, no," she says, running her hand through her hair. "It's probably not a great idea. We're divorced, remember? No mixing stuff."

They both look at the boxes piled up in living room. Clothes, shoes, mugs, books, photos, knick-knacks, all the delirium of a life together. But not everything. Barney's leaning against a throw pillow she bought last year, there are plates and books and candles scattered through the apartment still, food she'd bought, lightbulbs she'd changed — all the little things that weren't worth taking.

"Speaking of mixing stuff," he says, and she smiles and can tell from his tone what he's about to say, "where are you staying tonight?"

"At this point I think I'm going to grab a shower and head straight to the airport," she says, checking her watch again.

"Okay," he says, turning on the TV.

She takes a shower, using her soap and shampoo — two more things she hadn't bothered to pack. She considers throwing them out, but decides to let Barney take care of it if he wants to. This whole thing feels surreal.  _This is the last time I'll take a shower here_ , she tells herself, but it doesn't feel meaningful or anything. She takes her time washing up, wraps herself in Barney's bathrobe when she's done since hers is packed away, dries her hair and redoes her make up, redresses in comfy traveling clothes and packs her previous outfit in her suitcase.

Barney's still watching TV when she comes back out, barefoot. "There can't be anything good on this time of night," she says, sitting next to him on the sofa.

"Korean soaps," Barney explains. She calls a cab and watches with him for a few minutes, but she doesn't speak Korean.

She tries to tell herself it's meaningful —  _this is the last time we'll do this_  — but mostly she's just tired, even after her shower. The TV's volume is low, and the apartment is quiet around them. She gets a text when the taxi arrives.

"Okay, I gotta go," she says. She stands up, and so does he. "I'll see you in a few weeks," Robin says. She hugs him, kisses his cheek. "See you soon!"

He kisses hers. "Take care of yourself," he says, his tone just amused enough that it doesn't sound like an order.

She makes it as far as the elevator with her suitcase before his apartment door opens again. "And get me a souvenir from Thailand!" Barney calls.

Robin laughs at her ex-husband. "I'll see what I can do," she promises, timing her wink to the  _ding_ of the elevator doors.

 

 

 

They don't talk for the next couple of weeks, and it's actually a relief. Robin loves not having to worry about checking in with someone, entertaining her husband after a long day of work, or feeling guilty for ignoring him over an eighteen hour day. It's a relief to be alone and free of obligations.

But she can't resist calling him the morning before she flies back to the states. "You'll never guess what I just bought you," she says.

"Is that the ocean I hear?" Barney demands. "Dammit, Robin! You  _suck_. I'm at  _work_."

"Poor baby," she teases, moving through her hotel room to stand on the balcony, to increase the noise of the surf. "Did you take another consulting job?"

"Uh-huh, but this one is super lame. The FBI said it was a conspiracy case, but it's just trade deals and  _paperwork_. Who cares about price fixing?"

"You're a real American hero," she teases, looking out at a white sand beach. "How is everyone?"

"Good. I had lunch with Lily the other day. Her boobs got even bigger, but she's starting to show, so, whatever. She just wanted to ask if I was heartbroken and growing a breakup beard."

"Are you?" Robin asks, wincing.

"Robin. Please. You know facial hair cramps my style. Especially now that I'm single again."

Something pinches in her. She doesn't want to talk about that part of their divorce. "Hey, so, you never guessed what I bought you."

"A picture of you in a topless swimsuit?"

" _Ern!"_ Robin says, trying to imitate a buzzer. "Wrong! But you're on the right track."

"Nude beach?"

"Nude  _magazine_ ," she says, laughing. "I cleared out a newstand for you. There's Thai  _Maxim_ , and a bunch of ones whose titles I'm not even going to try to pronounce. All for you, buddy."

"You shouldn't have!" Barney says, sounding genuinely touched. "When do you come in? This weekend?"

"Tomorrow," she says. "Or, I guess the day after tomorrow, your time. I'll be in town for a week, so we'll have to meet up."

"Definitely," he says. "Where are you staying?"

 

 

 

Ranjit picks Robin up from the airport. She's exhausted, dozes the drive into the city with sunglasses on, and almost falls asleep again in the elevator up. She thinks she might be imagining being conscious. When Barney opens the door, she gives him a peck on the cheek and pushes her plastic bag of Thai magazines and duty-free airport snacks into his arms. "I'm going to sleep for like, twelve hours," she says, as he smiles and lets her in. "Don't you dare wake me up."

 

 

 

When she wakes up, she's disoriented. She doesn't know what time it is, and for a minute,  _where_ she is. The sheets are soft around her, but she feels greasy and tired, is still wearing her jeans and bra. She blinks up at the dim, scalloped ceiling for a minute, then turns onto her side.

Barney is sleeping next to her, curled up on his side of the bed, leaving her plenty of space. They're not even close to touching, but it still startles her for a minute to see him there. Like when he'd suggested she just crash at his while she was in town, he'd somehow vanish from his apartment in the process.

Stupidly, Robin reaches out and touches his shoulder. He grunts in his sleep and doesn't stir.

Whatever. Friends can stay with friends. She stalks off to take a shower.

Once she's under the hot water, her head clears a little. Barney's actually being pretty gentlemanly, she realizes: not bothering her in her sleep, sticking to his half of the bed, no 'accidental' touching or opportunistic groping. She has to admit she was a little worried it'd get weird, crashing at her ex-husband's place. She hadn't thought he'd let her stay with him without making a move of some kind. She'd actually sort of counted on it.

Barney's really grown up. She thinks it with a stab of pride.

Robin steps out of the shower and puts on his bathrobe and makes them breakfast — crepes, just about the only thing she  _can_ cook. Barney stumbles out of the bedroom maybe an hour later, his hair wet and with a towel around his waist. "You stole my robe," he accuses.

"I made breakfast," she counters. "Get dressed, asshole."

He leans on the island and watches her with narrowed eyes. "It's  _my_ robe. Get your own."

"Mine's in storage," she says. "Suck it up."

"No," he says. "We're not together anymore, so you can't just steal my stuff."

She looks at him. He crosses his arms over his chest, angry for some reason she can't name. For some ridiculous reason, since she's in his apartment after he said she could stay with him in the first place — she looks at his arms crossed over his chest, his stupid sulking pout, his towel low on his waist.

She clicks off the stove and takes the pan off the heat. "Fine," she says. "You want your robe?" She undoes the sash, right there in the kitchen, and pulls it open. " _Take it_."

 

 

 

"Everyone backslides," he says comfortingly, a little while later. They're in bed again, lying on their backs — she'd collapsed backwards when they were done, leaving her feet draped over his calves, her head at the foot of the bed, hair falling over the edge. "It's totally normal."

"Uh-huh," she says, staring upside-down at the TV. With a grunt she pushes herself up on her elbows. He's lying splayed on his back: at some point in the last five minutes he's grabbed one of the pillows and is hugging it to his waist. They look at one another for a minute. "It's fine," she says.

"Really?" He looks concerned, and she gets it. They're  _not_ together. She doesn't want to be, and neither does he. This is dangerous territory.

"Really." She smiles at him. He grabs her ankle and yanks her up the bed a few inches, she laughs, sits up again, lies herself down beside him on her stomach with her arms folded under her head. "I just got off a twenty-two hour flight. It's nice to work off some… tension."

He smiles at her. "We're good?"

"Totally good." She does feel more relaxed — loose and springy, if a bit sore in… places. The good kind of sore. He rolls onto his side, squashing the pillow under him. "It's not like anything has changed. I mean, that's what we  _promised_ , right? Just because we broke up doesn't mean we're not friends… and aren't going to accidentally have sex sometimes." She snorts. "We're still  _us_."

He laughs and sits up to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Well, I'm always happy to help you with your  _tension_." He climbs out of bed, pulling on his hard-won bathrobe. "Did you say you made breakfast? Is it edible?"

"Oh, go to hell, asshole," she says, throwing his discarded pillow at him before also getting up to redress.

 

 

 

They don't sleep together again while Robin is still in town — or at least, they don't have sex. They sleep in the same bed, no touching, no inappropriate groping. Robin doesn't cook again, but Barney gets extra bagels. She takes care of the storage locker situation, goes to work, has lunch with Lily and Skypes with Ted, and Barney does his own stuff: his consulting job, running, gym.

Lily, of course, just wants to know how she's  _doing_ , like if she asks enough in enough different ways Robin will fall apart in her arms. Robin doesn't. She feels fine — great, even. She's actually glad she and Barney got their backslide out of the way so soon, but she knows better than to tell Lily about it… or where she's been staying while she's in New York.

At the end of the week, Robin packs up to go to Cyprus. It's an afternoon flight, so she leaves the apartment when Barney leaves for work, loiters around the Upper East Side for a couple of hours before taking a cab to LaGuardia. When they'd left together, he'd offered a casual  _bye_ and they'd quickly hugged. It had felt weird, weirdly casual.

But that makes sense, she reminds herself, later, in the VIP lounge. They're friends. That's how friends say goodbye.

 

 

 

Her stint in Cyprus leads to two weeks in Greece reporting on the refugee crisis: from there, Robin heads straight to Brazil for the Olympics. She barely has time to breathe, let alone sleep or call her friends — manages a couple of Skype calls and voicemails, late at night or in weird moments during the day. It's hard to keep in touch with everyone: she's so busy, and whenever she checks in with home everything is exactly the same: Lily is pregnant, and that's going the way pregnancy always does. Marshall hates his job. Ted and Tracy are sickeningly happy. Penny and Marvin and Daisy are small and obstensibly cute.

It's… boring. There's never any change to the story, nothing new when she calls. She still calls, because they're her friends and she loves them. But they never have anything new to say.

She does call Barney, a couple of times. Not out of favoritism or feelings or whatever. He just always has a story to tell, some ridiculous new adventure to report. "I work for the FBI," he tells her, one evening where she's lying exhausted beside the pool at her hotel. She'd just asked him why  _his_ work stories weren't super boring like Ted's were. "I could be filing paperwork and it'd be awesome because I need a badge to do it."

"You don't have a badge, you're a consultant," she reminds him. God, it's hot. If she wasn't on the phone, she'd dive into the pool.

"I'm having one made," he says. She laughs. "How's Rio?"

"I'm so tired I can barely move," she says. "I'm lying beside a pool right now —"

"What are you wearing?" He interrupts.

"Black two piece."

" _Nice_."

"Yeah, anyway, I'm lying here in my sunglasses and bikini and I have a drink in reach, one of the fruity ones Marshall likes? And I  _still_ can't stop thinking about all the events and editing and reports and people I have to chase down and wrangle and how to get the story down and…" Robin trails off in a frustrated sigh.

"You sound tense." He emphasizes the last word, a bit of a smirk in his voice.

"Totally." She lets her eyes fall closed behind her sunglasses. She smirks. "Although, interviewing all those hot, sweaty, athletes helps."

After she says that she feels a brief stab of — something like worry. Like she just said the wrong thing. But that's ridiculous: they're  _not_ together, and even when they were, she didn't hide her love of certain well-toned hockey players no more than he stopped sizing up stupid trashy skanks. So there's nothing wrong with saying it. Besides, they're just friends now.

"Sure," he says. If she could see him, she'd know if he meant it, but he's on the other end of a phone, a continent away.

She clears her throat. "Not that I have time for that." She wonders if she should make time for that, what she's holding herself back for. " _So far_. Anyway, I gotta get going. No rest for the wicked."

"Cool. Talk to you later," he says, and she tries not to figure out if he sounds relieved.

 

 

 

After the Olympics, she has two weeks in the States. She heads straight for Barney's place. He cracks a joke about turn-down service, she gives him a bottle of Cachaça, takes a shower, then a nap. He wakes her up around seven to ask if she'd want to split a pizza if he ordered one.

"Too sleepy." She rolls onto her back and stretches, curling her arm behind her pillow, arching her back slightly. She remembered to change out of her travel clothes this time, and is wearing a tank top and not much else.

He rolls his eyes and knots his tie. "I'm going out. I'll get you a doggy bag or something."

She frowns a little and goes back to sleep.

 

 

 

He's busier than she is this time, working long hours while she's on a break from work. It isn't that Robin relies on Barney for her entertainment, but it's a little odd, being on totally opposite schedules when she's crashing at his place. She visits Lily and makes it up to White Plains for a day — by now, everyone has more or less stopped prodding her about her quote-unquote heartbreak — catches up on sleep, goes to the movies alone, gets a massage.

She and Barney don't argue, don't have sex. When it's time for her to jet off to California, she kisses him on the cheek at the door.

 

 

 

It's the same thing for the next six weeks: Three, four, five days somewhere, a day or two at Barney's. They hang out sometimes, but sometimes he has work or she does, and it's nice not to need to be held accountable to him but when he doesn't come home until late she wonders what he's doing.

And they're friends. It's normal to wonder. It's fine to wonder.

Start of October, Robin gets hit with a bitch of a job: Nineteen hour flight to Mumbai for a day's worth of coverage, twelve hour red-eye to Seville that evening, two days in Spain and then a seven hour flight back to the States. She lands so tired she's dizzy, sore and tense and cranky: she stumbles into a cab and struggles to stay awake the drive to the Upper East Side.

Barney isn't even  _home_. She still has a key — she makes it as far as the sofa before she collapses and sleeps. He wakes her up what feels like ten minutes later, shaking her shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

"I just got in," she says blearily. Frowns. "What do you mean,  _what am I doing here_?" He looks… something, some expression she's not used to, is too tired to figure out. She pushes herself upright. "I thought… that we had a thing." Even as she says it, she realizes that they've never really talked about it, that she's just shown up here between jobs. They never agreed on an arrangement. By his expression, Barney realizes it too.

"We — um, you can crash here,  _whatever_ ," he says, frowning, looking towards the door, "but you could  _call_ , maybe? Like, hey, dude, head's up, I'm going to crash at yours while I'm in town?"

"I didn't think — what's it matter to you?" she asks, pushing her hair out of her face. "What, am I going to interrupt…" she means it to be a sarcastic jab, but realizes that that could well be it. That that could well be why he's looking towards the door. They're not together. This isn't a  _like you'd cheat on me_  situation. "Oh my god," she says, suddenly awake.

"Robin —" he says, exasperated and pleading.

"Oh my god, this is humiliating," she says, barely hearing herself. "I'm going to — I'm gonna go."

"Wait," he says. He gets his hand on her arm, like he could stop her —

"No, it's cool, it's totally…"

"You can crash here. I want you to crash…" he's saying at the same time.

She tries to tug her arm away, his grip tightens, she's exhausted and angry and humiliated and he's tense and frustrated and pleading — but they're none of those things, they can't be, they're  _friends_ , and they both agreed shaking hands and quitting would be the best, the cleanest, the right solution.

Then she's pushing herself towards him and he's kissing her.

It's fast and rough and angry and all the things they swore they weren't and would never be and were divorcing to avoid reaching. She wants to destroy him, hurt him, crush him. She wants him to never, ever stop. To slap him across the face and keep him to herself forever.

When they're done they lie side by side. She turns on her side, facing away, listening to his breathing.

They don't talk about it.

She doesn't get a hotel room.

 

 

 

Robin Skypes him from Beijing the next week, and it's all back to normal again. He recommends some restaurants and tries to teach her how to order in Mandarin, she accuses him of trying to teach her how to say dirty stuff and he laughs and agrees.

Everything is fine. They're friends.

 

 

 

Robin knows she shouldn't push it, but she gets a few days off to attend Lily and Marshall's moving-slash-Halloween party, and doesn't call Barney to let him know she'll be swinging by. She lands in JFK just past six AM and catches a cab, telling herself she's being ridiculous, that she doesn't have to book a hotel room, because she and Barney are friends and she's welcome to crash at his place any time. Just as she'd stay with Marshall and Lily, or Ted and Tracy. Barney is just the one with the room.

So they've backslid twice. So what? It happens.

She has nothing to worry about. No reason to call ahead, because he has nothing he needs to hide with advance notice; he might be annoyed, but that's a tradeoff she's willing to make, her relief against his petty anger.

The more she thinks about it, the more ridiculous it all sounds in her head. But she still braces herself when she arrives at Barney's building, clutches her carry-on tight as she presses the elevator button.

She tells herself she has nothing to worry about — worry shouldn't even be crossing her mind, friends don't worry about what other friends are doing — up until the moment she unlocks the door to his apartment.

He's sitting on the sofa. His eyes lift from his phone, go wide, he drops his phone and jumps to his feet and pales.

She doesn't feel anything, not dread or fear or anger.

"Hey, I told you to  _call_  if you're gonna just show up here," he says, hurrying over. He's wearing his blue robe. She brushes past him, still holding her bag. Heads down the hall, into the bedroom. The bathroom door is closed. She hears the shower.

She listens to the water running in the bathroom. Thinks about barging in, yelling, grabbing the skank and pulling her out of the shower, out of the apartment, kicking her naked to the hall. It's not her fault, though. Robin wants to, wants to humiliate her, punish her, take it out on someone else — but it's not the girl's fault.

She feels it all build up inside her.

Barney trails after her like a dog that just crapped on a rug. "I told you, you have to call ahead." His voice is whiny, defensive.

This is worse than the time with Patrice.

"Besides," he says. She shifts her gaze. He licks at his lip. "We're not together. So actually, this isn't a big deal. Like,  _whatever_ , am I right?"

She looks at him. Sees a hundred things at once. All the things he's ever said and done. The way he treated her the first time they broke up. The way he'd been so eager, so quick to say they should break up. For the first time in a very long time, she looks at him, his robe half open, exposing smooth, muscled skin, and doesn't find it attractive. Doesn't find him handsome. Her ears are ringing. Her mouth is open, her eyes feel glassy.

"I mean," he's saying, whining, standing there with his hands limp at his sides, his smile glassy, "we're  _friends_. What a funny thing to happen to us friends, am I ri—"

At least when he'd broken up with her the first time, he'd been shitty to her face.

"You haven't changed at all, have you?" she asks. It's supposed to sound accusatory. Her face feels hot. It sounds tired, defeated.

"Why should I change?" he asks, pulling up his posture, trying for bluster, a shit-eating grin and false confidence. Why should he change, he's awesome. He's not going to apologize. They're not together. They're not friends. They  _divorced_. He has nothing to apologize for.

She wants to slap him. "You're  _pathetic_."

The smile slides off his face.

"You're —  _god_ , you're just  _pathetic_ ," she hisses, her face hot and eyes stinging and hand still clutching her bag. "Is this what you do? Revert back to your more disgusting self the second you've escaped your shitty marriage?" Their shitty marriage, the marriage they agreed was a mistake, the marriage they agreed was a  _success_ , not to be regretted, that still mattered even if it had been a mistake, that their friendship would be preserved if they just quit before things got awful…

He looks up, away. "No, I," his eyes flicker from her to ceiling to the bathroom door. "I want to be friends," he says quietly. "I really do."

"Just —  _fuck you_ , Barney." She doesn't know what else to say. Maybe that's all there is to say.

He doesn't seem to know how to reply. He looks small. Pathetic.

The water turns off in the bathroom. "I have to go," she mumbles, running her hand over her wet face.

"Robin, wait —" he says. He tries to grab for her, but she breaks free easily. She's out the door and at the elevator in less than a minute.

He doesn't follow.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_DOOOOOOUUUUUUCHE._

_Wow. You're an_ asshole.

_A total dick._

_I! Can't! Believe! You'd! Be! Such! A! Douche!_

_Ow! Ow! Lily, stop — ow! Marshall! Make your woman stop hitting me!_

_Sorry, buddy, I'm ruling douche on this one._

_Robiiin! Make them stop!_

_You know, I'd totally forgotten what a dick you were until I was telling the story just now?_

Please _, Robin, you know all about my dic — Oww! Li_ ly _!_

_Yeah, you have all this coming to you and more._

_Man, I thought this was supposed to be a_ romantic  _story on the occasion of my and Tracy's marriage. This is just sad._

_Right? I can see why it took Robin three and a half years to agree to go out for coffee with you after all that._

_Okay!_ O _kay! First of all, that was totally not my fault._

 _Boo!_ Boo _!_

_Shame!_

_You suck!_

Totally  _not my fault. Me and Robin had been broken up for six months at that point, I was a free agent! Besides, after that she got all weird and dramatic at the Halloween Party — remember, Lily?_

 _Oh! Was_ that  _why you were all weird and "Ted is my secret soulmate?" and creepy?_

… _Wait, what's this now?_

_Look, I was going through some stuff. I'm not proud of it._

_And it didn't take her three years to forgive me, b-t-w. More like a week and a half._

_Still douchey, bro._

_Nobody asked you, Ted!_

_And, yeah, sure: Try half a year_   _before I even thought about this asshole again. After all that bullshit I took a long assignment in Germany. I came back to the States in '17 because of something… dammit, what was it again? Probably nothing important. Whatever. The point is, I didn't talk to Barney again until March of that year…_


	3. 2017

_So like I said, I didn't make it back to the States until March of 2017. I had been avoiding talking to Barney, to_ all  _of you guys, trying to make a fresh start in my life. But then Ted begged me to come home, and —_

 _Hang on! I remember this! Robin, you came home when_ Luke  _was born. How could you have forgotten that? March 11th, 2017! Tracy and I were trying to have one last romantic weekend away while sleep was still an option. She went into labor just past midnight, and I said it looked rough, and_ she  _said —_

_Yeah, Ted, still my story over here. Where was I?_

 

* * *

 

**2017.**

 

Robin makes the taxi stop at a toy store in White Plains. She buys the first toy she sees that looks baby-appropriate — a stuffed sheep — and climbs back into the cab, setting the sheep down on top of her suitcase and yawning. It's sort of misting rain, and makes her feel tired. She's always tired lately.

The taxi brings her to Ted and Tracy's place, and she pays, hefting her luggage under one arm. She wants to take a nap, not deal with cooing over some baby, but … whatever.

Truth be told, she's missed everyone.

She knocks and Marshall answers the door. "Hey!" he says, giving her a hug that forces the breath out of her lungs. "Wow! Long time no see! It's great you made it!"

"Hi!" she says, super cheerfully. Then Lily is there, and then Ted. Robin hands him the sheep and puts down her carry on, fielding questions as Ted herds them all back towards the living room. Yes, Germany is great. She brought back chocolates for the kids and Marshall. Her contact lasts another six months, she doesn't know yet if she'll renew it. She's sorry she missed Thanksgiving and Robots vs Wrestlers.

"It's not the same without you around," Tracy scolds gently, catching the last part of the interrogation. She's lounging on the sofa in the living room, looking good for having given birth two days prior. She's holding the baby. Toys and presents for the baby are everywhere. She recognizes Ted's mom and her husband talking with another couple she guesses are Tracy's parents, and a dark haired woman she's pretty sure is Ted's sister Heather.

Robin picks her way across the room towards Tracy and the baby. As she passes him, she pats Barney on the shoulder. He's sitting on the floor cross-legged, playing with Penny and some blocks. "Hey," she says, hugging Tracy carefully. "How are you guys doing?"

"We're doing amazing," Tracy says, beaming. She tries to hand the bundle to Robin, but Robin demurs, happy to admire him from his mother's arms.

"He looks just like Ted." He really does: same nose, same messy dark hair. She leans over the sofa, brushes her knuckle against his soft cheeks. The baby is asleep and doesn't respond.

"Impatient like him, too," Tracy says.

"Hey!" Ted objects from across the room. Robin chuckles.

"How early was he?" she asks.

"Just about three weeks," Tracy says with a little sigh. She moves her legs to the side so that Robin can sit down next to them. "Still, he popped right out, unlike his sister."

"Gross," she says mildly. "But it kind of worked out. I don't think I could have come on such short notice if he'd been born next month. Hear that, Luke?" Robin is pretty sure he can't understand her yet, but the little guy  _is_ pretty cute. "You've got some good timing, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Are you going to stick around for a while?"

"Through the end of the week," Robin says, "but then I have to get back to Cologne."

"Are you staying in the city?" Tracy asks.

"Yeah," she says, looking vaguely around the room, her eyes falling on Penny and Barney. "I got a hotel."

 

 

 

The party goes on for a little while longer, until Luke needs feeding and Penny starts getting fussy. Heather and Tracy's parents are staying the night, but Ted's mom and step-dad have a hotel in White Plains, and Lily and Marshall need to check on their own kids. She finds all this out in the chaos of goodbyes and see-you-soons and promises to meet up. Robin is almost as popular as the baby: she makes dates to hang with Lily, see the kids, come back to spend time with Ted…

Lily and Marshall drive off, Robin calls a cab and has a drink with Ted in the kitchen as Tracy's parents put the kids to bed and Tracy goes upstairs to collapse and die. ("She means sleep," Ted corrects gently. "Yeah, I got that," Robin says.)

It's a little weird hanging out with just Ted, since last time Robin was in the city she had half convinced herself Ted was the one she was heartbroken about. It's a lot harder to think that in his kitchen, as he rambles on about his kids.

"I should get going," she says, checking her watch. "Cab company said twenty minutes, he should be pulling up."

"Okay," Ted says. They hug, say goodbye; he walks her to the door.

The cab isn't here yet, but standing at the foot of the driveway…

"When did you start smoking again?" Robin asks, her feet crunching on the gravel.

Barney turns halfway around at her voice and draws on his cigarette. "Few months ago."

They'd agreed to quit smoking just after their honeymoon. Well, Robin had quit and made him quit along with her. Ted had found out about their pact a couple of days later and joined them. Poor Tracy, new to the group, not even a month into dating Ted, had had to deal with all three of them going through nicotine

withdrawal at once. Robin smiles wistfully at the memory.

"There was this New Year's party…" Barney elaborates. He shrugs, looks at his cigarette, and lifts it to his mouth for another drag.

She kind of wants to tell him to put it out, but maybe she doesn't have the right anymore. She wonders what happened at that party, and catches herself sighing. "Look…" she says, dropping her luggage at her feet. "I'm sorry about last year. I guess it hadn't been that long since we split up, and I freaked out a little."

She's thought about it a lot, and spent a lot of time imagining what she would do the next time she saw him. The first few times she'd imagined self-righteous ranting, putting him in his place and making him feel pathetic and small. Then she'd imagining showing off how superior she was to him. Slowly, all that had just faded away.

What had she expected? She knows him. He'd even tried to warn her.

"I'm sorry too," he admits, very quietly. He drops his cigarette and grinds the butt under his shoe. "The way it happened was kind of… trashy."

She kind of laughs, and he smiles hopefully at her.

But she just can't leave well enough alone. "So you're… dating again?"

"Um," he says.

"Acting trashy again?" She kind of means it as a joke, but it comes out too pointed and she immediately feels bad.

"I don't like being alone," he says, staring down the street.

Something twists inside of her. "No, it's… sorry." She swallows. "I hope you find someone." She doesn't, not really. But they divorced so that they could stay friends, and if part of that means watching him find someone else…

"I'm not gonna…" he trails off. "I'm not Ted. I'm not out looking for the one or whatever. I just get bored." He shrugs.

She wonders if it would feel better or worse if he was out looking for  _the one_. She remembers how much it hurt, how deep it dug, when Ted got engaged to the first girl he dated after her, after only a few months with her. It'd feel like that, she suspects.

She tells herself not to be selfish. To be a good friend. "Why not?" she finds herself asking him. "WWN is still full of hot, single chicks. Some of them are pretty nice, I could maybe introduce you."

"I'm not cut out for that stuff," he says, but with a sort of half smile to show he means it as a joke.

"Don't say that," she says, unexpectedly stung. He looks at her. She closes her eyes and counts. "We didn't break up because of you. I mean, no more than we broke up because of me. We split up because we wanted different things. It wasn't anyone's fault." She's been thinking about it, really thinking about it, alone and away in Germany. "I'm speaking from first hand experience here. You're … pretty okay at relationships." She stops herself from saying  _good_ or  _great_.

He's smiling at her now. She remembers that smile, the way he's looking at her. She looks away. "So, whatever. I'm sorry for freaking out on you last year. Friends?"

"Friends," he says.

 

 

 

She doesn't go home with him.

 

 

 

They don't meet up the rest of her holiday, but he texts her and she texts back. She meets up with all the others, has a girl's night out with Lily. Barney texts her live commentary of some TV show he's watching the whole time. Lily's eyebrows go higher and higher each time she checks her phone, until she finally puts it away.

After that, it's like their never happened. She tries to justify it to herself. They were broken up. He  _had_ implied he was dating again. She hadn't called ahead. When she gets to the conclusion of that train of thought,  _it was my fault, really_ , she feels a tight, rolling anger. It's his fault. She still feels that, thinks that. It's his fault, and she can't put a stop to it.

But she doesn't know what else to do. She wants to keep talking to him. She wants to stay friends.

Isn't that why they got divorced in the first place?

She texts him through her week in New York. They make vague plans to meet up but never do.

 

 

 

Robin likes living in Germany. Likes the country, the people, even the food. She really likes the beer, and the tall, strapping German men. She even meets one particular man she takes a particular liking to: Stefan is tall, athletic, not looking for anything serious, and even a couple of years younger than she is, which takes the sting out of his blond hair and douchey name. They go out a couple of times, dinner, football matches, his apartment or her house. She makes it clear on the first date she's probably only going to be in the country for another few months. He's completely fine with it.

It's kind of a relief, that Barney isn't the last person she's slept with anymore.

She likes her house, too, which is temporary housing but has its own paved and fenced in front yard, big windows, and lots of room. She likes being forced to try new bars and hangouts, likes meeting new people, likes having a life removed from New York. She likes the impressed looks people give when she says she's from New York.

She likes the work: still travelling around Europe, but without long flights and jumping time zones. She likes taking the train to France or Poland, the two hour flight to Italy, the way each country is completely distinct and so close by. She gets a week off in April and goes to Norway, just because she's never been. It's wonderful. It's exciting.

It's a little lonely.

The feeling creeps up on her. She starts calling Stefan more, because she starts getting tired of always returning home to an empty house. She starts thinking about getting a pet. She starts looking at flights to New York on her computer.

She calls Lily a lot. The others, too, but Ted and Tracy are pretty harried with Penny and the baby, and she's never been all that close to Marshall.

It gets worse the further into spring she gets. Maybe it's normal. The anniversary of her divorce is coming up. It's probably normal to feel uneasy about that. She tries to put it out of her mind, concentrate on her work. When the day itself arrives, she goes to work, goes to the store, thinks about calling Stefan and doesn't.

It'd feel wrong, somehow.

Barney calls her a week later.

It's the first time he's really been the one to call her. She stares at her phone as it rings on her kitchen table; it's eleven at night, her time. Early evening in New York. She never changed the photo on her contacts page for him: Barney, mid sneeze, circa 2010. Looking at it now, it seems kind of inappropriate. Too buddy-buddy.

She picks up the phone. "Hello?"

"So I was thinking," he says. He's never really been big on  _hello, how are you_ s.

"Really?" He goes  _hah_ , and she chuckles. "Sorry, you set me up."

"The FBI wants to send me to Cologne," he says. Her throat immediately goes tight. "For like a week, blah blah, GNB had business partnerships there that I  _might_ have helped set up back in the day but can't legally discuss because of self-incrimination. Wanna hook up?"

"You mean meet up," she says.

"That one," he agrees. "So I'm flying in on Sunday."

She looks at empty house, out her big picture window, the dark street outside. She looks at her laptop, open to her schedule. Sunday is the 21st of May. "For how long?"

"A week."

She thinks about it. "Okay."

 

 

 

"Cleaning stuff is in here," she says, opening the door at the top of the narrow stairs. "I know you're super neurotic about that crap. Bathroom is on the right, end of the hall. This one is my room…" She pushes the door open and trails off. The second half of the sentence is  _guest room is the next door_ , but she wants to know what he's doing to say.

Barney peers into her room and doesn't answer. "It's tiny. This house is ridiculous."

"Welcome to Europe." She leans against the wall next to the door and watches down put down his bags. It's strange seeing him here, in Germany, in her house, in her hallway — her old life creeping into her new one. If this really is a new life. She's noticed some repeating themes. "So," she says, "what do you wanna do?" It's only ten in the morning; she took the day off.

Barney reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a touristy flier. "There's a super tall tower in this city, check it," he says, pointing to the wrinkled front page.

Robin has seen that tower. "It's like five million steps. Are you serious?"

"It's a super tall tower! How isn't that gonna be awesome? Plus, great line alert:  _hey, baby, I know you think this is a huge tower, but have you seen the one in my pants_?"

"Yes," she says without thinking. His face splits into a grin, and it only gets bigger as she shakes her head, a little embarrassed. "Pretty sure the Cologne cathedral has you beat," she says, fighting an awkward giggle. "I mean, there's two of 'em."

Barney clears his throat. "Are we gonna do it or what?"

"I should have known that was what you were after," Robin says, biting her lip and starting to pull off her shirt.

 

 

 

"Flying all the way to Germany to get laid? Seriously?" she asks, later.

"Please. Like this is even in my top ten sex schemes," Barney says, running his knuckles along the bumps of her spine.

 

 

 

It's one of the weirdest weeks she's had in a long time.

It turns out that Barney wasn't just lying to have an excuse to visit: he's out of the house most of the day working, and she works from home, makes a couple of trips to the office. They spend their evenings together, Robin showing him around the city, Barney dragging her up towers and other tall places. She never even sets up the guest room.

On Thursday, Stefan calls asking if Robin wants to hook up. She demurs, not explaining that she can't because she's watching TV with her ex-husband. Barney looks at her when she hangs up. "No one important," she explains, looking at her phone. "This guy I'm kind of seeing."

She kind of wants him to be upset, but he doesn't look like he is. "A  _German_  guy?"

"Stefan."

"He sounds like a douche."

She chuckles. "I know, right? I hate his name. He sounds like the villain in a bad action movie."

"The evil sorcerer in some dumb fantasy novel." Barney chortles.

They go on like that for a while, listing roles for men named  _Stefan_ , Barney exaggerating the German accent, until he finally laughs and asks: "Do you like, say it in bed? Talk about douchey."

He means it as a joke, she know he means it as a joke, and it still throws them both into awkward silence, the TV playing forgotten in the background.

"I'm actually gonna break up with him," she blurts out all at once. It's not something she's even thought of until now. But it makes sense, she tells herself. She's been sleeping with Barney all week and that's not fair to poor Stefan. It's not like they're serious. She picks at the seam of her jeans.

"Oh," Barney says. That's probably all there is to say.

 

 

 

The next day is Friday, May 26th, 2017, and they don't talk about it. They spend the day together, running errands, hanging out. They go out to a restaurant: nice, but not  _nice._ They go to a bar, they go home a little buzzed, they have sex and go to bed.

They don't talk about it.

Robin can't sleep after, long after he's snoring softly beside her. Her bed is too small for them to sleep far apart, his arm lies draped vaguely over her, splayed out over her arm and shoulder and collarbone. It feels nice. It feels normal. It shouldn't. They broke up, it's not their fourth anniversary, it's a normal day, just as they pretended.

But it's not a normal day. It's their anniversary.

She doesn't know what to do about that, so Robin takes a couple of deep breaths, pushes his arm off of her neck, and goes to sleep.

 

 

 

In August, Robin takes a few days off and goes to New York to see everyone. She stays with Barney. There's no pretending to be platonic friends: they're all over one another as soon as she's through the door.

She spends her time visiting Marshall and Lily and Ted and Tracy, even calls her dad and then spends two hours ranting about it to an amused-looking Barney. They go out to dinner once, but mostly just order in. He works, she socializes, they sleep together every night.

She broke up with Stefan back in May. He doesn't ask.

He doesn't mention if he's sleeping around when she's not in New York. She doesn't ask.

 

 

 

Robin remembers to call Tracy and wish her a happy birthday in September. They chat for a bit, and Robin sends Ted her love. After, she calls up Lily to fulfill  _those_ social obligations and to give her love to Marshall.

She calls Barney last, even though she just talked to him the other day. "Hey," he says.

"My contract is up in a month," she says, instead of hello.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She looks out her window, at the dark street outside. "I was thinking of moving back to New York. I miss everyone."

"You should!" She smiles at the way his voice raises. "Everyone misses you, too! And you'll be able to come to Thanksgiving. Last year, Lily bitched and it was so annoying."

"Wasn't I mad at you last year?"

"Were you?"

She laughs. "So I was wondering. Do you think I could stay with you for a couple of weeks when I get home?" He doesn't say anything right away. She continues: "Just while I get things settled, you know, find a place, work out my new contract…"

"A few weeks?" he echoes doubtfully.

She feels a sting of something. "Or just a day or two, if that's…"

"Isn't that what you told Ted before you moved in with him for like twenty years?"

" _Three_  years," Robin corrects, flushing a little, because  _just like me and Ted_ had been echoing in her mind ever since she landed on this idea. "Totally different scenario."

"Really?" he asks, his voice low with doubt.

"I wasn't sleeping with Ted."

He's quiet for a couple of seconds, then chuckles. "Well," he says, and she can hear him leering even over the phone. "In  _that_ case."

 

* * *

 

 

 _Wow. You two really_ do  _suck at being divorced._

 _Wait, hold on. You two have been secretly_ living  _together? And you never thought to mention that?_

_No! Not… exactly._

_Yeah, Robin was only in the States for a couple of months._

_Actually, can we take a break from this story? It's starting to get depressing._

_Huh? I actually think it's kind of sweet, in a… 'Barney and Robin are really,_ really  _awful at relationship boundaries' kind of way._

 _Yeah, but_ that's _not gonna last. These morons definitely screwed it up for themselves because, once again, they thought they could get away with not defining their feelings for one another and being casual, and everything blew up in their faces._

_Wait — Lily, you know the story already?_

_And you never told me? Nice, Lilypad!_

_Nah, I'm just very wise and know how these morons operate. Trust me, they messed things up._

_Lily! That's just rude!_

_And accurate!_

_And rude!_

_And things didn't blow up because "we_ "  _were idiots. Things blew up because_ Robin  _had to go to Spain and meet some douchebag there._

_See what I told you? It's all gonna be downhill from here._


	4. 2018

_In October of 2017, my year in Germany ended. I renewed my contract with WWN to get a New York-based position and headed back to the States._

_You mean, you secretly moved in with Barney._

_I didn't 'secretly move in with Barney!' I just… stayed with him… for a few months… without telling any of you guys._  Big  _difference._

_Wow. I can't decide if you two suck worse at being divorced, or at being honest with us, your closest friends._

_…So there I was, moving back to New York!_

 

 

 

**2018.**

 

 

 

"That's all you have?" Barney asks as Robin takes her second bag out of the cab.

"What did you expect me to show up here with?" she asks, placing the bag down on the sidewalk. She gives him a look, then looks at the bags, but he doesn't take the hint.

"You had a whole house in Germany."

"I got rid of most of it. It was mostly IKEA anyway." Robin pays the driver, sees Barney experimentally lift one of the bags out of the corner of her eye. He raises it a couple of inches and puts it down again. The cab merges back into the New York traffic, and it's suddenly a little — weird. Standing outside of Barney's building. Her building. Whatever. "Were you planning to grab one of those, there, buddy?" she asks dryly, grabbing her wheel bag by the handle.

He picks up the duffle again and rests the strap on his shoulder, grimacing. The doorman opens the door for them, greeting Barney with a  _Mr. Stinson_  and Robin with a weird look. She resists the urge to wave, say  _I'm back, bitches!_  She smiles.

Barney stops walking; points at her. "She's living here again, by the way," he tells the doorman. "With me.  _Again._  In my apartment." He's smirking, or maybe grinning — Robin grabs him by the elbow and pulls him towards the elevator.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" He looks confused, then his expression clears. "George is our doorman. He's gotta know you're supposed to be here."

"Yeah, but…" she doesn't know. "Forget it." She presses the elevator call button, and they wait.

"Uhm," says Barney, scratching at his neck. "There's something I wanted to ask you. It's kinda important."

"Shoot," she says, but he doesn't immediately ask, not until she turns her head to frown quizzically at him. He's frowning too, at the elevator doors, and doesn't end up asking until they're on their way up to his — their — floor. She wants to press him, but she forces herself to wait.

"Are we… Are we gonna be banging while you stay here?" he asks between the third and fourth floors.

"Yeah," she says. "Obviously. Didn't we already agree on that?" She sort of smirks over at him, but he's looking at the elevator buttons this time. The emergency stop lever. "Come on, dude, not in here. Let me take a shower first."

His expression changes — so fast she isn't sure how to translate it, blank-frown-close-eyes — but then he focuses his attention back on her, smirking. " _Or_ ," Barney begins.

 

 

 

By the end of the week, Robin is settled in: her stuff taken out of storage and put back into Barney's closets, her toiletries back in the bathroom, her mugs back in the cupboards, her desk back at WWN's New York headquarters.

After that, she reaches out to the others. Ted and Tracy are swamped with the kids and Tracy's foundation is in the news, causing a new client pile-up, so they aren't able to meet up right away, but Lily clears her entire schedule so they can spend the day together.

It's been way too long: they go to a Korean massage, go out to lunch, do some shopping in Manhattan — Lily buys a pair of new shoes, but Robin doesn't spot anything she's into. Robin's missed this, just wandering around gossiping with her best friend. It's like there's been no time or distance at all between them, and in person, even Lily's boring baby talk doesn't seem so bad.

Robin feels guilty the entire time.

They stop for coffee towards the end of the afternoon, some coffeeshop in the old neighborhood. It's weird being here again, now that none of them live here anymore. "Right?" Lily says when Robin tells her. "It's crazy. Whenever I'm in Manhattan I always end up coming back here, even though I never have a reason."

"We should start having weekly MacLaren's nights or something," Robin says, taking a sip of her latte.

"Maybe more like biweekly. Or monthly!" Lily seems excited by the prospect of going to their bar once a month, but Robin tries not to frown.  _Weekly_  had sounded pretty sparse to her. Lily sobers. "Come on, Robin. We all have kids now. To be honest, me and Marshall haven't actually seen Ted in person since… August? Lately it's just e-mail chains and text messaging."

"So is that what it's going to be like from now on?" Robin asks glumly. "We only get together once a month?"

Lily looks hesitant. "I mean, it's different for you and Barney." Robin looks up, and Lily nods. "Yeah, he came over for dinner last week? Since he's single, it's actually easier to get together with him than with Ted and Tracy and the kids."

Robin can see the logic behind that, but the mention of Barney gives her the guilty feeling all over again. "Oh, and, speaking of Barney," Lily says, and Robin almost jumps.

"What about him?" she asks, hoping she sounds casual and cool.

"How are you two doing?"

"What do you mean?" Robin takes a sip of coffee to try and hide her mouth.

"Well, you guys divorced and said you were going to stay friends, but neither one of you talk about one another…"

"We're fine," Robin says.

"So you do talk?" Lily's interested, which means Robin has to play this carefully. She looks down at her cup.

"Sure. Sometimes." All she can think is:  _We did it this morning._  "I mean, yeah, we divorced, and that's kind of weird, obviously,"  _We don't usually have sex first thing in the morning like that, but today he was looking_ _ **real**_ _good and I just went for it_. "But I think we're still friendly."  _Usually we're more before-bed kind of people. Sex, pajamas, sleep. Yeah, traditional, but it's convenient, you know? Since we just moved in together again, we're kind of been going at it more than usual, but I'm not complaining if you know what I mean._ "We're still friends."  _Who knows, I might even jump him again when I get home._

Robin's trying her hardest to keep a blank expression, to not look guilty or embarrassed or, worse, pleased. Lily frowns at her. "So if I invited you both to our Halloween party this year it wouldn't be a problem? Or Thanksgiving? Robots vs. Wrestlers?"

"Nope, nope, and nope. We should be fine for Christmas, too," Robin says, still thinking of her rediscovered sex life. Normally she'd be telling Lily all about it, in lurid detail. A large part of her wants to. They always would talk about this stuff, even back a million years ago when Robin was dating Ted; it was always fun, comparing notes on their men, Marshall's habits and Robin's guys, Robin test marketing certain positions and tricks they'd heard and reporting back to let Lily decide if she wanted to bring them up with Marshall. But it wouldn't be a good idea this time, Robin knows.

Lily would probably yell at her or something. "Are you sure?" Lily asks. "I know it's gotta still be kind of awkward. We wouldn't force you to sit together or anything."

"Seriously, Lil," Robin says, looking at her coffee. "Barney and I still get along… great."

She feels guilty the rest of the afternoon.

 

 

 

It's easy, living with Barney. She'd sort of forgotten.

She remembers their fighting, their near fighting, sharp words and abrupt silences as they dropped the argument. Going to bed still seething,  _wanting_  to fight, sometimes going most of a day without talking to him because she knew if she opened her mouth it'd come out as a scream. How he'd call her  _constantly_ , demanding to know when she'd be home,  _if_  she'd be home, or not call and be sulky and annoyed when she got back, until finally they'd had a big fight in Argentina and agreed to call it a draw.

Those were the things Robin had remembered.

There were also things she had forgotten.

How he almost always wakes up first, sets the coffee maker, leaves to secretly work out. How he refuses to put milk in his coffee, but drowns it in sugar, and remembers how she takes hers. How he forgets to eat at least two meals a day, and how it makes her leave work as soon as she can after the evening news, to make sure he at least has dinner, how she scrapes their takeout onto real plates and feels like somehow she's taking care of him.

How he gets entranced on his laptop, watching YouTube videos and writing mysterious blog posts. How he can go hours not even noticing she exists, writing or watching a dumb movie, playing video games and forgetting her, until she sits next to him on the sofa and watches him lose focus. How nice it is, to relax on the sofa, watch a movie, eat takeout from the container, her legs draped over his lap, his fingers playing with the ankle of her jeans, sliding over her bare skin, picking at and ruining more than one pair of gauzy tights.

The way he sleeps — all over the place, his leg dropped over her ankles, his hand mysteriously ending up on her forehead. He hadn't done that when she'd crashed here over the past few years; she hadn't noticed he must have been tense all those times, sleeping lightly, lying still on his back, ready to react. She'd forgotten what a pain in the ass it was to share a bed with a relaxed Barney Stinson, to have to shove random limbs off her at least once per night.

Having sex that isn't a fight or a contest or a way of acknowledging something without saying the words; waking up with him close, sitting on or over or against him on the sofa, his arm draped around the back. Kissing him sometimes just because he said something sweet or he did something nice or because she's coming home from or going to work.

She'd forgotten.

 

 

 

They go to Lily and Marshall's Halloween party. It's a little weird. No one checks up on them, treats Robin like she's a time bomb of grief anymore, but when Barney comes over to chat with her Robin sees everyone staring over his shoulder, waiting for an explosion. He hands her a red cup of spiked punch and starts going on about a new development in this feud he has with a rival blogger, something that's been going on for a few days now —

She takes a sip of too-sweet punch. "So, how have you been?" she asks pointedly.

He looks confused.

"You sound like you're doing well," Robin says, loudly. She can see Ted approaching at three o'clock. "It has been such a long time since we have talked," she adds stiffly.

"Oh." Barney's face falls. "Yeah," he says. "I'm awesome." For such a pathological liar, he's doing a crappy job of it now.

"I'm glad to hear it."  _They're going to catch on,_  she thinks at him loudly.

"How was Germany?" he asks, very loudly. "Did you climb any cool towers?" She frowns. It feels like a dig, like an inside joke he's daring her to respond to, and she doesn't have time for it.

"No," she says. "Hey, nice talking to you!" She pats his arm and intercepts Ted and avoids Barney the rest of the party.

 

 

 

Thanksgiving goes better.

She offers to arrive at Ted and Tracy's early to 'help,' which ends up meaning  _babysit while we cook, thanks so much, Robin._  Barney arrives a little bit after Marshall and Lily and the kids; Ted has a seating chart prepared, and places them on opposite ends and sides of the table.

She'd worried that Barney hadn't been listening when she told him earlier they couldn't be too friendly, they couldn't act like they were too close. But he's boisterous and cheerful and barely talks to her all night.

Although Robin left after him, Barney arrives home late. She's waiting for him on the couch. "Did you get trapped in the parade or something?" she asks, curious and a little put out.

For a second he looks… something… but then he laughs and goes with it, spinning a tale ripped straight from Ferris Bueller, but she gets the feeling his heart's not in it.

 

 

 

It's at Marshall and Lily's Christmas party that things come to a head.

Robin can feel that something isn't right; that in the two months she's been back in the States things aren't going according to plan. Barney's been tense and unhappy, and if he's avoiding fighting about it, she has to admit that she is too.

They'd arrived separately again, both with presents for their nieces and nephews and friends. The guys had all exchanged their usual tacky Star Wars merchandise and video games; Robin had gotten Tracy an all-inclusive spa day ("one ticket only, sorry, Ted") and Lily the boots she'd been hinting about. Barney had inflicted SkyMall on everyone for the tenth year in a row. Nothing surprising, nothing unexpected: Robin had felt comfortable and warm, surrounded by the people she loved most, sipping from a mug of spiked eggnog in front of Lily and Marshall's fireplace, watching Penny go crazy over some LEGO set.

Then Barney sat next to her on the loveseat. "I got you something too," he says, handing her a box the size of a paperback, wrapped in black paper.

"Oh," Robin says, taking it. "I didn't get you anything," she says carefully, both because she can see Lily not just eavesdropping but watching them, and as a warning to Barney himself: they'd gone  _over_  this. She'd told him to be cool.

"That's cool," he says, his eyes bright and expression so eager she smiles nervously. "Open it! I picked it out, didn't even have a guy do it."

"Picked it out from what, Hammacher Schlemmer?" Ted asks teasingly.

"Woah, and we're stuck with just the low grade stuff?" Marshall jokes.

Barney laughs and turns to address them — Robin, smiling nervously, unwraps the paper, taking advantage of the guys's lapsed attention.

It's a hinged box, the lid stamped HW. Her heart stops.

Robin squeezes her eyes closed, unable to name the rush of emotions. Fear, anxiety, embarrassment. Excitement, happiness, something else she can't name. This is too much. What is he doing? She's desperate to know what he bought her; she doesn't want to see.

"Thank you," she starts to say woodenly, but it's too late, because Lily squeals:

"Is that a Harry Winston?"

"What?" Tracy asks, piqued.

"Who's Harry Winston?" Marshall whispers, probably to Ted.

It's too late, Robin forces her eyes open and forces herself to smile, opening the box as everyone looks, Barney grinning proudly at her side. It's a necklace, a strand of tiny diamonds that must have cost more than her first apartment. It's too much; she would never wear it; it's beautiful; she loves it. "This is too much," she tells him, with frustrated, unhappy tears in her eyes.

"But isn't it awesome?" he says coaxingly.

"Jesus Christ, Barney," Ted says, awestruck, having caught a glimpse of the necklace before Robin snapped the lid shut.

"Wow, and you only got us a Death Star toaster?" Tracy jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

"Excuse me," Robin says. She pushes the box back into Barney's hands as she stands up from the loveseat, and has to lock herself in the bathroom until she calms back down.

 

 

 

Marshall is the one to catch her later, when Robin is aggressively loading his and Lily's dishwasher for them. No one had mentioned anything or made eye contact with her or Barney when she'd come out of the bathroom, but it's too much to hope for they'd  _really_  let it go. "Hey," he says.

"Hey," she says, stabbing some forks into the silverware caddy.

Marshall comes over to the sink and starts rinsing plates. "So, uh, we all know that Barney kind of sucks at figuring out what to buy people," he says. He hands her a plate and she shoves it into the dishwasher. "He probably was trying to make amends with you."

"What do you mean?" Robin asks tiredly, pushing her hair out of her face. She knows exactly what he was doing.

"Well… you guys divorced, and you don't get along anymore. Lily thinks he misses you." Robin frowns. "As a friend," Marshall adds.

She shakes her head. "We get along fine." Might as well get this conversation out of the way, she supposes. She thinks of the gift  _she_  bought him; a tie pin he'd been broadly hinting he wanted. She'd left it at home, to give to him later. It didn't cost anywhere close to what he'd spent. She doesn't know if she can give it to him now; she's angry, angry he'd do this when she'd warned him not to, in front of everyone.

"I know you guys say you do," Marshall says slowly.

"But?" Robin begins to load cups into the dishwasher.

"Well, you do pretty much ignore him whenever we're all together." Marshall shrugs. "If you don't want to talk to him… it's probably weird after the divorce? But Lily thinks that's why he got you some fancy necklace. He's trying to be friends with you again."

"That doesn't make any sense," Robin says, shooing him out of the way so she can get under the sink and grab the detergent.

"If you don't want to be friends with him, we totally support you," Marshall says earnestly, then sobers, "but maybe you should let him know clearly where you stand?"  _Where you stand_. "It's just that it would suck if you guys started to fight all the time."

She wants to argue — they get along fine, they get along great — but she realizes what a hollow argument that would be. Robin presses the start button on the dishwasher. "Yeah, okay," she says. "I will."

 

 

 

"I mean, what the hell?" she says, later that night, pacing barefoot in their living room.

"It was a Christmas present! It's Christmas! You're supposed to  _like_  it!" Barney says from where he's slouched into the sofa, his arms crossed.

"That's not the point! We agreed not to tell anyone —" As Robin says it, she realizes she's not sure if they did agree, or what they agreed on. "We're not together! Thank you, it's a  _beautiful_  necklace, but it's not appropriate, Barney! You don't give things like that to your  _ex_ , you give them a, a book or a gift card!"

He's clenching his jaw and wants dearly to leave, she can tell, but she won't let him, not until he understands.

"I thought you'd  _like_  it," he says angrily.

She does. It's gorgeous. But it's also poison. "And what, that I'd wear it on a lunchdate with Lily? What would she think? It'll give everyone the wrong idea —" he stands up suddenly. "No, look, you can't leave, not until we get this figured out," Robin says. She tries to smile, calm herself down. "I'm not mad, I'm just…"

"There's nothing to figure out," he says, clearly angry. "I won't buy you anything or talk to you in public. Okay?"

That isn't what she meant — she feels stung. "You're being dramatic."

"So when am I allowed to talk to you?" he asks, his voice cuttingly sarcastic. "Is there a dance card or something?"

"Of course you can talk to me! I just don't want our friends to get the wrong idea about us!" He shifts his jaw. "God, Barney! Every holiday it's like — I mean, what happens if we don't talk about this? You try to kiss me on New Year's in front of everyone?"

He looks startled and hurt and then angry again, deeply, furiously upset, and Robin suddenly wonders if she has terribly misjudged this entire situation. "No," he says, his voice icy, " _please_. Why would I wanna kiss you, when New York is full of so many hotter women?"

It's a threat and it's a slap, and she doesn't know what to say, what the right answer is. She can't tell him no if she won't tell him yes. She feels her cheeks reddening, and he raises himself to his full height and slams the door when he goes.

 

 

 

She makes it up to him.

She doesn't know what else to do, how else to do it; after a day or two, when he's come back home and they've cooled down, she puts on something he likes and makes it up to him. She doesn't want him with anyone but her; she doesn't want to talk about it again.

She takes the New Year's broadcast so she doesn't have to see what Barney does at Marshall and Lily's New Year's Party, but as soon as she's off camera she sees him waiting for her in the studio. They start off 2018 by drinking with some of her coworkers, and the next time everyone meets up, in January for Daisy's fifth birthday, he's polite and distant and pleasant to everyone in attendance.

But she knows it's not a solution.

 

 

 

He's the one to break their silence. It's two days before Valentine's Day, and she's had an uneasy feeling all week, that Lily and Tracy and Ted's romantic Facebook posts would get him thinking, the way it's gotten her thinking.

They haven't fought, or talked about it, since Christmas.

She made dinner that night. She's been trying to learn, since coming back to New York and remembering just how bad Barney is at taking care of himself; he eats junk and drinks and, hell, he's getting older, and she hates this domestic urge in herself, this weird caretaker thing, but if she doesn't watch out for him, who will? She'd made burnt green beans and undercooked salmon and was feeling pretty pleased with herself until Barney stopped prodding at his untouched salmon to say: "Uh, can I…" She watches as he screws his entire face up. "…words," he grits out, "to… you… about… saying, have to?"

"Did you just try to say  _we need to talk_?" Robin asks, immediately both amused and deeply wary. He nods helplessly. She nods too, unsure what he's about to say and terrified.

He frowns intently down at his green beans, and takes a breath that raises and lowers his shoulders. "I want to get back together."

She'd been bracing herself for — she doesn't know.  _Move out_ , maybe. "What?" she asks, unable to stop a surprised chuckle.

He looks up at her. "I want to get back together. Officially." He frowns. "Like, not  _marred_  officially. Unless you're into that. Just… together."

She's smiling, she can't help it. "Barney, what are you talking about?"

He steels himself. "We already live together. You're not traveling anymore. We like each other and we bang all the time. So we just tell our friends, guess what, Desperation Day did its magic, we're together again."

"I'm in New York  _for now_ ," she says. He immediately frowns, but she doesn't look away. She's on a two year contract, but who knows what's going to happen in the future? That escape, that exit route, she needs that. What if things go badly? And she needs to go? Her expression softens. "Why do we need to tell our friends anything? What does it matter what they think?"

"I just think it'd be cool," he says quietly.

"I think things are fine as they are," she says, pushing her empty plate away from her. She waits for a second, but he doesn't say anything, so she tries to change the subject. "By the way, I was talking to Fran, at work? She says her Barcelona story is getting greenlit, so if you wanted to take a vacation…"

"Why don't you wanna be with me?" He interrupts.

"…we could — What?"

He shrugs. "Why not? I'm awesome. I'm the best-dressed person you know, not to mention the best looking  _and_  best in the sack." She feels herself start to smile a little. "Plus, we already live together," he says, with emphasis.

"Why are you so desperate to tell our friends?" Robin asks with a nervous laugh.

"Why don't you want them to know?"

She rubs her forehead. "They'll… they'll just get nosy, they'll start judging us, and it's not like we're  _together_ ," she says, blurts out, desperately, desperate to get off this pathway she doesn't want to go down. "C'mon. We're just sleeping together. We're casual. Friends — roommates with benefits."

He's looking at her,  _looking_  at her, and she knows she just screwed up, but she doesn't know what else to say here, what else to do. He looks like he did in that hotel room in Argentina when she suggested calling it a draw; like he did in the bar that time years ago, the night she'd misjudged his reaction to Kevin. "And it's  _great_ ," she says, desperate to salvage what she can of this. "But it's not a  _relationship_."

"You've gotten mad whenever I've even talked about other girls," he says slowly, like it's a point he's proving.

"That's because you're you!" she laughs, it's not funny but she tries to make it a joke, and instantly knows she just made it so much worse. That isn't what she meant — except it  _is_ , because he had a girl in his shower once, and he's been loyal as far as she knows, but it's not like she doesn't have a right to be wary, jealous — except they're  _not_  together, so maybe he's right to call her on it, but if he thought it was due to feelings…

Feelings…

Why does he have to make it about that? That's what he's really asking here, isn't it? If she's in love with him? If she wants to promise him her life, her heart, for a second time, when they both know now, have  _proof_ , that it won't last or work? He expects her to fall for it twice? She doesn't blame him — maybe it's been fun to pretend — maybe this arrangement is all the benefits and none of the problems — but their friends would only care about  _love_  and  _feelings_  and she can't, she can't  _ever_  give herself over to that again. She has an escape route now, a way to act like it never happened and leave if she needs to, if she gets hurt — she never has to stand in front of anyone and promise anything and fail again.

He's still looking at her, but his expression has flattened. "I…" he starts to say, quietly, desperately, one last card up his sleeve.

She cuts him off. "No," she says, shaking her head, closing her eyes. "Don't say it. Please don't. It's just gonna —"

"Fuck," he swears, under his breath, standing up from the table. In a second, he's composed again, anger masking the hurt she's just done him. Again, again, why would he want to do this again? Doesn't he know what she does? Hasn't he learned? She stays where she is and looks at her plate like a chastened child.

"Look," she says. She's not even sure he's still in the room. Her voice sounds small. "How about I, um, go to Barcelona. It'll be a couple of weeks, and we'll both have calmed down, and then… when I get back…" She takes a breath. "We can talk."

She hears the apartment door open and slam shut as Barney leaves. He hadn't eaten any of his dinner.

 

 

 

Three weeks in Barcelona turns into four, and then five. She keeps hoping he'll call her, text her, like a post on Facebook,  _something_ , but he doesn't contact her.

She debates contacting him, but she doesn't feel like it's her right, like she messed up, wasn't as kind as she should have been, even if he was the one who decided to bring feelings into it.

March turns into April. The Madrid office is understaffed, and Robin makes a deal to stay; Spain is sunny and warmer than New York this time of year, and she doesn't know where she stands back home. She tells the others it's a great career opportunity, even though it isn't.

April turns to May and she's trying to get the bureau into shape, focusing on that instead of that she fucked up, she screwed up, Barney never wants to talk to her again. The more time passes, the less sure she is that she did the right thing — even if she hadn't wanted to try again, couldn't she have gone along with him anyway? If that had kept him in her life? Would it have been so awful?

She's sure he'll show up for their anniversary. Sure he'll call a week beforehand or just appear the day of at her cramped flat, smiling boyishly, holding a bottle of Spanish wine and complaining about the food. She's sure he'll love the beaches and sunglasses and complain about the heat. She's so sure, so convinced, that she takes the day off — he'll be here —

He doesn't follow her to Spain.

She spends the day alone.

She meets Javi a month later.

 

 

_Can I ask a clarifying question?_

_Four days a week unless it's a holiday._  Then _it's no holds barred._

 _Okay, buddy, maybe wait until_  after  _we've gotten through our coffee date before you start plotting the course of that one._

_Also, not my question. What I was going to ask — on behalf of, I believe, all of us — was…_ _**WHY THE HELL ARE YOU TWO SO BAD AT COMMUNICATING LIKE ADULTS!?** _

_Pooh bear, sweetie, calm down. You're absolutely right about these bastards, but no yelling on my wedding day._

_I'm going to get us all more drinks before we get to the next part. Lilypad, how're you holding up?_

_Ohhh, I'm just waiting for the big, ugly, accidental pregnancy shoe to drop and hopefully destroy these idiots._

_You know, I'm starting to get the feeling you guys aren't as invested in this romantic tale as you said you would be._

_Although,_  speaking  _of my amazing, epic achievements and not-so-great-even-though-Ellie-is-awesome ones…_


End file.
